Mitigating Factors
by fawkes21
Summary: What would drive Wilson to lie to House?


Author's Note: This is a bit of a departure for me, as I usually write for "CSI". This is my first "House, MD" fic and I am a little nervous, since I am in unfamiliar territory! I'm just a high school teacher so I don't own any of the characters! All reviews (as long as they are constructive!) are welcome.

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I don't know why I did it.

I didn't mean to do it. I just suddenly found myself talking, telling Cuddy that she couldn't say anything to him. The minute the words left my mouth, I knew they were a mistake. But I am the person who knows him best, and if I was saying it, then it must be true. I have some deeper insight into his psyche and what goes on behind those walls he puts up. Well, at least that's what they think. Only I can get inside his mind and know his thoughts. The sad reality is, I don't think I know him at all. I thought I did, once upon a time. Then the infarction happened, and I had to get to know him all over again. I was finally just starting to think that I really had him figured out, and then he got shot. And I just knew, deep down, that I didn't know him anymore. And I don't think I want to. I couldn't deal with this new person who stood in front of me, because all I wanted was the old one back. I had already had to re-learn who he was once, and I just couldn't bear to do it again. Maybe I hadn't liked everything about the person he had been, but at least it was familiar. But now, everything was different and I am starting to think I never really knew him at all. There are just too many layers, too many facets that are buried so deeply that even I can't begin to discover them. How can I know who he is when he is the one who controls how much I know? My knowledge is rooted solely in his power and he knows it. Yet, in spite of all this (or maybe because of it), they all think that I am the only one who can understand him. I think they are mistaking understanding with reasoning. I am the only one who can reason with him. When I talk, he listens, even if he doesn't like what I have to say. I know he trusts me to tell him the truth, no matter what the consequence.

And then I lied to him. And I don't know why I did it.

He was just so sure of himself. No, wait, he was _full_ of himself, which didn't surprise me. But it did trouble me. I wish it was because he was being reckless and running tests without pausing to think of the consequences. And while that fact did weigh heavily on my moral scale, it wasn't what upset me the most. What upset me was the fact that if he was right (and how often is he really wrong in the end), then it would just solidify his belief that the person he was after he woke up from the shooting was the person he would continue to be. Since the ketamine treatment, he had, as Cameron confided to me once, become a whole new person. I didn't tell her that in actuality he had just become the person he had been before the infarction. He hadn't become anything; he had returned to a way of life that had long since been dormant. He was the person I had known what seems like a lifetime ago. He was person who was independent and free. And I knew exactly what that meant: He didn't need me anymore. I had grown accustomed to being his crutch, both literally and figuratively at times. I had been there for him in the early days of his recovery, when he would go crashing to the floor as his body protested its new center of gravity. I had been there for him when he was trying to resolve his issues with Stacy. I had been there for him through every grueling minute of rehab, every Vicodin prescription and every crazy case he had encountered. I had been his enabler, his partner in crime and his friend. I made sure that he survived.

He never once thanked me. Looking back, I don't know I did it.

Now he didn't need me anymore. It was weird; nothing changed, yet everything changed. I had defined myself by him for so long that when that changed, I didn't know who I was anymore. I wanted to be happy for him, I did. But part of me was angry that I had lost myself while he had regained a piece of himself. I hated myself every single time that thought crept into my head. Why shouldn't he be happy? I asked myself a million times. Admittedly, he hadn't really made all that many other people happy, but did his demeanor have to condemn him to a life of pain and suffering? Why couldn't I just be happy to see him happy? I am a terrible person. I must be. I can't even bring myself to be happy for the person who is supposed to be my best friend. I dreaded the day he came back to work. I knew it would make him happy. Maybe that's why I tried to keep the case away from him in the first place. Maybe if he worked cases that were not as puzzling, it would erode some of that happiness. Maybe he would turn to me again and I could once again find myself useful. But of course, as soon as he took the case he was back in his element. He was the happiest I'd ever seen him. And why wouldn't he have been? His leg was fully functional, he was back to making his minions lives miserable and he had a case that was an enigma wrapped up in a riddle. And to top it all off, he was right in the end. I didn't agree with his approach but I never had. And yet I couldn't stop myself. If he knew he was right about his case, I was certain that he would continue on this upward swing and I would never be able to bring him down.

So I went and opened my big mouth to Cuddy. I don't know why I did it.

I don't know what I thought would happen. I guess I figured that if he were miserable, he would revert back to his old self. He would start avoiding patients and would engage in witty banter with Cuddy and I. He would stop acting like an overgrown teenager on his skateboard and would go back to drinking beer in his living room with me after work. I guess I thought he would go back to needing me. At first, I thought I was right. He tried to act like he didn't care about the case, and forged ahead with his new cases. He even came looking for Vicodin. Actually, that had frightened me. I wanted him back, but not at the expense of his leg again. When he told me it was hurting, I was quick to reassure. Surely all my wishing for things to be the way they were before wasn't coming true. He must just be missing the sensation of taking his pills, which, in the twisted recesses of my mind meant that my plan was working. But it soon became clear that he was deeply scarred by what he believed his failure to be, and his self-doubt was gnawing away at him. He lacked the passion that he had once had and he just didn't seem as sure anymore. I didn't know what to do. I hadn't planned on this. I had figured he'd come to me to vent his frustrations, I would give him some advice that he would invariably ignore and he would channel that feeling of intellectual impotence the way he had when he only had one good leg. It was a stupid theory on my part. I don't know why I thought breaking his spirit would somehow make him the person he had been before. He seemed broken and I knew it was all my fault. I was responsible for his failure and it killed me. Each day, I cruelly robbed him of his power. I could see how much he was hurting

And yet, I kept up the charade. I don't know why I did it.

It truly never occurred to me that I might get caught. At least it didn't until Cameron found out the truth. In that instant I knew that the house of cards I had so carefully crafted was going to come crashing down at any moment. Of course he would be upset with Cuddy but he was going to be absolutely livid with me. I had committed the ultimate betrayal. I had selfishly and carelessly toyed with him to feed my own sense of self-worth. In the end, I felt pretty worthless. I had hurt the only person who had stood by me. He was the one constant in my life, the one thing I thought would never change. But my own stupid desire had changed all that. I had so wanted things to be the way they were before that I sabotaged the only real relationship that I have ever had in my life. The instant he came into my office I knew that he knew. I didn't even try to hide my role in it. How could I? I tried lamely to defend myself, but the words sounded hollow, even to my ears. He just looked at me as if he didn't even know me. Hell, I don't know myself anymore. The hurt that he wasn't quick enough to hide flashed in his eyes and I knew that I had done the unforgivable. I had lied to him. I don't know what I expected him to do. I half-hoped he'd hit me, because I would have deserved it. Instead he looked at me with cold eyes and made a pointed effort to get out of my sight. Everything is wrong now and I am not sure if it will ever be right again. I can hope he forgives me but I can't blame him if he doesn't. I acted in my own interests and in doing so may have ruined a friendship that could have lasted a lifetime.

I don't know why I did it.


End file.
